Hood Up and Halted
So, here I sit in my IM-mobile home. A house on wheels should roll, right? Not today. Not tomorrow. Not for the foreseeable future. We need either a miracle or an operational motherboard, both of which seem to be in really short supply.
Saturday began with a quick trip to the grocery store in preparation for a long haul to Colorado. Provisions were packed away, the “stuff” inside the RV was secured for travel, the tanks were dumped, and the site was cleared. We were smiling, singing Willie Nelson’s On The Road Again, and ready for take off. Until we cranked the engine. It started right up, but the RV computer was not receiving the signal. Therefore, we could not close the slide out. Nor could we lift the leveling jacks. We were not going anywhere.
“Never trust a computer you can’t throw out a window.” ~ Steve Wozniak
We tried the obvious stuff. The volt meter showed a fully charged chassis battery. Frank, our amazingly thorough and amicable technician, crawled under the truck and traced the wire as far as he could, until it disappeared into the abyss. The cable snaked through to the computer board which was inconveniently located under the bed, which had to be dismantled. There were a plethora of wires that fed into the control panel, but without a schematic it was impossible to select the correct wire. Naturally, we couldn’t get the necessary part from the manufacturer. Their employees were eating hotdogs, drinking beer and watching fireworks.
The plot thickens. We are supposed to be in Indiana by now. We had meticulously mapped out a journey to Lower Cataract Lake, in the White River National Forest to attend a celebration of (a much too short) life for my brother-in-law. Now it appears we have to quickly come up with a plan B.
We are awaiting some return calls, but at present, it looks like we are stuck for another EIGHT weeks, while awaiting the part needed to fix this mess. While I may appear to be taking it all in stride, I can assure you that I am falling apart on the inside. This takes our homelessness to a whole new measure. No brick and mortar, no place to put our house on wheels while it awaits repair.
So now we must cancel reservations, find a place to keep Bertha while she awaits repair parts, find a dog-friendly home for the next few months, plan a whole new route to the Rockies, with pet-loving motels along the way. Retirement is so relaxing.
The only bright note is that if we must be left in the lurch, at least we are near friends, family (with a beautiful pool) and Frank the RV guy.
You can’t make this crap up.